Grains of Sand

Pixabay I linger in the blackness, seemingly invisible to passersby. My night is cold and lonely, devoid of the warmth of human touch. There is only God, and though He speaks, I do not hear from Him what I desperately want to hear. He begs me to trust His will, but that will lies heavily upon me, like a shroud. His will is solitary. His will is hard. He bids me be patient, but the fruitless, empty, years pass me by, heaping their rewards on others. Shared laughter mocks me, as groups of two, three, and four, walk by. Their eyes seem to meet mine but then slide past unseeing. I follow them, heading toward the open doors ahead that they are passing through. I long to cry out after them: “Look at me. See me. Hear me.” I don’t. They are busy with better, more productive, things. I bless the Lord for all their successes even as I envy them those blessings. Like a swift running current, they flow past my stagnant pool. It seems pointless to call out to them. Even if they saw and heard, ...

Pixabay I ran across this brief devotional while sifting through some articles I had written on the FAITHWRITERS website. I wrote it in 2005 but its truth still remains current for today. “ Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water .” ( Matthew 14:28 NIV ) You have to admire the audacity of Peter. As for me, I don’t like small boats. I prefer my water in a glass or at least in a form that comes with a tap. If I had been Peter, I probably wouldn’t have even been in the boat, much less trying to walk on water. But sometimes the events of life don’t give us a choice. Unlike Peter, we don’t even get the opportunity to ask permission to take a walk on the wet side—we get tossed out of the boat and seemingly left to sink or swim. A serious illness, a financial setback, a ministry turned misery, a relationship that fails, a past that haunts us, a present that overwhelms us and a future that defies us—who would ask to walk on these turbulent waters? For P...

Pixabay “ Praise be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows. ” (2 Corinthians 1:3-5) Reading these verses reminded me of a life experience that a missionary colleague shared with me some years ago. She and her husband were serving overseas. They were expecting their first child—actually children plural. She was carrying triplets. The babies, all boys, were perfect when they were born. But none of them survived. She was RH negative, and the medical personnel were unaware, or unprepared, for the implications of that reality during her pregnancy or when the babies were born. I asked her what that terrible tragedy meant to her as she looked back on it years later. Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 1...